Write on the Walls
by Snowsheba
Summary: She and her unyielding police training and he and his artistic graffiti fight against a world that has already thrown so much against them. They find each other unexpectedly, and soon come to realize that while home is where one's story begins, it is one's heart that makes it truly liveable. - A story in five parts. [No Pokemon AU, Silver/Lyra, Soulsilvershipping] HIATUS
1. Part 1

**I should be working on other things, such as other stories and studying for finals. Instead, I discovered this bad boy in my files, thought it was actually pretty okay, and decided to edit it up and post it in chapters. Whismur Publishing House, you already know what this is.**

**Send help. At this rate I'm going to go to my first final and realize I don't know how to define Boyle's Law or something. (Haha, oh man, Boyle's Law was ages ago.)**

**One more thing, kiddos: it's T for a reason. There's a _lot_ of swearing in here.**

* * *

The city streets were quiet, the only sound of her breathing pervading the silence. At least, that was what she told herself; there were plenty of other sounds, drunken laughs and hushed snickers and the occasional scream, but _they're not important, just keep walking, Lyra, you'll be fine…_In all honesty, she was clenching and unclenching her fist repeatedly, silently cursing herself from getting separated from her partner, one hand holding her handgun in an iron grip.

_Ethan is going to kill me_, she thought to herself as she made her way silently toward the corner of 95th and Central.

She bitterly recalled what she had said: _ Ethan, we don't need a rendezvous point. I won't wander off!_ And he had replied, the usual cocky smirk on his face but a worried gleam in his gold eyes: _Let's hope so, Lyra. _The words he had left unsaid, however, said so many things: he was rightly worried, she was far too flippant, she wasn't strong enough to take care of herself, and so on and so forth.

And here she was, after recklessly ignoring his direct orders and making a beeline toward the noise once she had heard it: the sound of a spray paint can being used. He _had_ followed her, but she had been swifter, and now she was alone with no idea where he was.

_Maybe I'm not cut out for police work_, she told herself, not the first time she had had such a thought. _Maybe I should quit and go back home to Mom – she always has room in New Bark._ But she shook her head slightly, brown eyes darting from left to right, her body automatically recalling her training to move fluidly, smoothly, to avoid detection.

There was more drunken laughter from nearby, joined by a chorus of others, and she startled, her finger tightening around the trigger of her gun. She forced herself to relax and she paused, listening; the voice sounded… taunting, almost. Threatening. While they received no response, she was pretty sure someone was cowering beneath them, afraid and about to get hurt. As a policewoman it was her duty to stop that sort of thing, so with a deep breath she turned down the alley and let the darkness blanket her.

She drew nearer to the voices on soundless steps, only stopping when she first caught sight of the offenders: two big, buff, drunk men and what looked to be a beautiful blond woman, cornered by them. There was also a flash of red, and she blinked when she saw that the woman was not actually cornered; she was holding back a crimson-haired boy, whose silver eyes reflected light off from the faraway streetlight. He looked completely expressionless as the men taunted him and the woman twisted his arm into a grip that Lyra knew firsthand as painful.

She was hopelessly outnumbered, but something inside her chorused for justice, and so justice she would serve. She had not wasted all this time training for nothing, after all, and she was, despite all appearances, one of the top police officers in the field when it came to moving swiftly and silently. This would play to her advantage.

It was also a good thing she was not wearing her police uniform at the moment, she reflected as she shoved her gun into her holster and instead cast her eyes around for a suitable weapon. She found what appeared to be an abandoned shovel and picked it up silently, testing the weight. Satisfied, she gave herself a tiny nod and drew even closer to the four, gaze intent on the boy with silver eyes. _I'll have to take out the big ones first, but the woman looks fast. I've got the element of surprise, though. No problem._

She shrank back when the men punched the crimson-haired boy in the jaw, the sound proceeding not entirely unfamiliar but certainly unwelcome to her ears. _Focus_, she told herself. Taking a deep, albeit silent, breath, she picked her way forward, this time looking down at the ground to avoid stepping on something that might give her away.

Only when she was mere feet from the first man did she pause, analyzing the situation one last time. She barely winced when the crimson-haired boy was punched again, so focused was she on her task. _Last chance to back out, Lyra_, a small voice inside of her head murmured, and she considered it for about one second.

Then she surged forward, silent and deadly. _I think not_.

Her aim was true, and she landed a solid blow on the man's temple, one that made him crumple into unconsciousness (_thank goodness for that_, she thought in private relief). She wasted no time in landing another such hit on the other man, though he merely staggered and recovered quickly, lunging for her. She twirled, easily evading his clumsy grasp, and shoved the wooden end of her shovel's handle onto his temple as he fell. He did not get up, and she wondered with detachment if she had killed him. Her mind failed to focus on the fact as she continued with her duty.

The woman had released the boy and was slowly backing away, blue eyes wide and hands above her head. Lyra gave her a defiant stare, brown eyes narrowed, until the woman's eyes shifted to look behind her; then she grimaced as she instinctively ducked, hearing the punch go right over her head – apparently she hadn't even knocked the second man out, let alone killed him. With a grunt of irritation she whipped around and smacked his head with the shovel, and he dropped with a final groan.

When she turned around, the woman was gone – and the silver-eyed boy was staring at her, blood running from his nose, arms crossed protectively over his middle. His sharp, angular face was not swelling, which was a surprise considering how hard the man had punched him, and the gaunt appearance was a little odd but seemed to… fit him, almost. He wore the look like a cloak, Lyra decided, and she watched silently as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his black sleeve.

He was just as silent as he pushed himself off the wall, wincing at the pain and hunching over slightly. Her eyes flicked to the duffel bag strung over his shoulder, the contents coming together with a sound resembling those of glasses clinking together in a toast. She met his eyes again as they abruptly hardened, noticing where her attention had been, and with just the slightest frown he turned and, just like that, disappeared into the darkness. She couldn't even see his shock of bright red hair, and even as she looked for a few seconds, she knew it was in vain.

Finally, with a scowl she dropped the shovel and turned away, shoving her hands into her pockets and forgetting that, with the motion, attention would be brought to the gun at her hip. Not that it mattered, she hoped as she continued to walk, until she was on the street again. She scowled even more deeply when she realized she could have been at the rendezvous already if she hadn't stopped; the crimson-haired boy hadn't even said thank you. Ungrateful tramp.

She continued walking quietly until she heard the distinct hiss of spray paint, in which she forced herself to hurry forward silently and quickly. When she arrived, however, the lot was abandoned. Someone _had_ been painting graffiti again, as she had thought, but this actually looked somewhat like art. She came closer and, hesitantly, as if it would burn her, placed a finger on the edge of one letter. She traced it as her eyes slowly followed the trail, reading the message spray-painted in a beautiful array of fonts.

_Affogo nel dolore_.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been, Lyra?"

"I've been – walking."

"Lyra, don't even try to – seriously. What were you doing? What _took_ you so long? I was about to call backup!"

"Ethan, I am a fully capable woman, and I can take care of myself."

"Lyra, you're nineteen."

"And Ethan, you're twenty-four. Give it a rest."

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"…"

"Look at me, Lyra. _Look _at me. Now tell me, what were you doing that took so long?"

"Nothing. I got lost. I found my way back. Simple."

"_Lyra_. Come _on_. You can tell me."

"… I helped someone."

"What, again? Lyra, you really don't need to help anyone in that sector. They're all criminals. Let them get what they deserve."

"But Ethan, he was my age, if not younger. I couldn't just let him be – "

"It's not worth risking your neck for someone like that. Next time, don't do anything. Okay? Promise me."

"But Ethan – "

"_Lyra_. Please."

"… Fine."

"If you break that promise I'm holding it against you."

"Go ahead; you already don't let me do anything anyway."

"Lyra, you know I'm just trying to protect you – "

"I can take care of myself, I've already told you a million times. How else would I have taken down those two guys in the alley earlier?"

"_What_?"

"Um. Wasn't supposed to say that."

"I'm guessing so. What exactly did you do while I wasn't there, you stupid idiot?"

"I'm not an idiot! And Ethan, before you say anything, I'm fine, I saved someone's life, and the jerks deserved it."

"Lyra, I think we need to have a talk with the Chief about this. You could've gotten killed!"

"No, no, please, Ethan; don't tell her. She doesn't need to know and she'll make a big deal out of it even though – _please_, Ethan, _please _don't tell her."

"… Since it's you, I guess I'll overlook it – only this once, though. Honestly, Lyra, you are such a handful! Everyone's worried to death you're going to get hurt somewhere along the line when we aren't watching you."

"I am one word away from slapping that smirk off your face, Ethan."

"Do it. I dare you – _ow_! I didn't think you'd actually – never mind."

"You're such an ass."

"Language, Lyra. Your mouth is even fouler than mine, and that's saying something."

"Shut up."

"Just saying."

"…"

"… What's that you have in your palm?"

"Oh. You mean this? I was walking and found some graffiti. Just wrote down what it said."

"Graffiti? Did you see the artist? Catch them red-handed?"

"No, they were gone by the time I arrived, but the paint was fresh – I could smell it. Anyway, here; recognizable to you?"

"Huh. Let's see if I can say this right – _affogo nel dolore_… kind of looks like Italian. I think 'dolore' means 'pain' or 'sorrow', but it's been years since my last class so I can't say for sure."

"I'll look online. And maybe I'll bring you around to show you the graffiti – it actually looks pretty cool, for street art."

"I'll believe it when I see it. See you tomorrow?"

"Of course. You think I wouldn't show up? Thanks for your faith in me."

"Don't mention it, Lyra. Good night."

"Yeah. You too."

* * *

She pointed out the graffiti to Ethan later the next day, and he was suitably impressed, one black eyebrow arching up and his metallic eyes widening somewhat. He agreed it was certainly something, and then added he had seen something in the same look and style. He believed it had said something with _el dolor_; perhaps it was similar to what it said here?

Lyra asked him to show it to her, and since they were off-duty, he did so. It was nearby, only a few blocks away, and just like her partner had said, the font and style was practically the same. This time, she also recognized the language, Spanish. She translated the words out loud for Ethan, _I drown in pain_, she said with surprise, and he wondered if someone was trying to leave a message for someone else.

Lyra said they would never know, would they. Ethan, after a moment's thought, agreed. Then he asked her to show him where she had taken down the two guys, just to see where she had been the day before. Although reluctant she was left with little choice, so Lyra quickly navigated the alleys to the very place where she had met the crimson-haired boy who hadn't thanked her for saving his ass. Her brown eyes narrowed slightly, but other than that that was the only visible reaction she had.

Upon arriving Ethan freaked and told her that this was one of the shadiest places in Goldenrod. What the hell had she been doing here? She could have been killed!

Yes, of course, Lyra replied. But I wasn't, was I? And he grumbled but consented, true, she hadn't been. She pressed him further that she was perfectly capable of handling herself and that she didn't need protecting all the time, but Ethan refused to respond, instead turning around and walking away. With a sigh, she followed, wondering what she really had been expecting.

* * *

He was _really_ going to kill her this time.

One man said something and laughed, leering down at her with the most awful smirk on his face. She gave him a cool glance in response, thankful she hadn't brought her gun (they would use it against her already and that would have been – well, tricky, to say the least), and shifted, body pressed flat on the wall behind her. The other man reached out a hand and without hesitation she calmly slapped it away, her face expressionless. She forced herself to breath slowly, levelly, and her heart and mind calmed until she was once again capable of rational thought.

The first thing that came to mind was oh yes, Ethan was going to be furious with her, and with these thugs, and that it was a true shame that he didn't know where she was currently.

_How are you going to get out of this one, Lyra?_ she asked herself, breathing slowly, watching with eyes devoid of expression as the men tittered to each other, eyes sliding over her slender figure. They were drunk again, which made sense, but she hadn't thought they'd be sober enough to distinguish her from all the other brunettes walking the length of the street. Then again, the Chief had told her before that her stride was far more confident and elegant than most; that had probably given her away.

She considered knocking both unconscious, but she could only do that if she had the element of surprise and was swift enough, and she didn't have the former or the latter – at least from what she could surmise from the dull, throbbing pain in her left thigh. If only she hadn't tripped when they had grabbed her, and maybe none of this would have happened. If only. Which made it a good thing that Lyra never let herself mope in 'if onlys' or 'what ifs'.

Maybe if she kicked them in the groin? No, that probably wouldn't work either. She briefly thought of codpieces and then successfully resisted the urge to chuckle. Well, actually, maybe it could work, so long as she managed to kick both in rapid succession. Which she couldn't, and even then, she couldn't really run. She carefully pressed some weight onto her left leg and cursed under her breath at the white-hot flash of pain it brought, shifting so she used primarily her right leg again.

Ethan was going to absolutely _murder_ her if she got out of this.

She tensed as they both turned to her again, hands clenched into fists at her side, muscles in her lean arms prepared to fight, heart beginning to start its frenzied dance once more. She wasn't going to let them touch her without bruising them up a little, she thought grimly as one reached behind her to grab her arms. She gave the approaching hand a swift jab with her elbow, using her bad leg to kick at the other man who was coming from the other side and –

_Oh god_, that had hurt like _hell_. She made a mental note not to overexert her leg as it fell back to the ground, heel pressed against the wall of the building behind her. It was a struggle to keep her balance now; perhaps she hadn't just bruised her thigh but maybe sprained her ankle? She didn't know. All she could see was the faces of the two men and their hands and she closed her brown eyes so she didn't have to look anymore, breathing hard and heart pumping at impossible speeds. As a young, pretty policewoman who was often incognito, she should have been prepared for this sort of thing, and she thought she had been – but she'd been mistaken. _I can't believe they even found where I keep my pepper spray. No one ever goes for the earrings…_

Then, out of seemingly nowhere, there was a grunt and the sound of metal hitting flesh, followed by a _thump_ as a heavy weight hit the ground.

Her eyes flew open unwittingly, and she saw the same crimson-haired boy from a few days ago standing over the two men, now unconscious, with what looked to be a metal pipe in his hand. He looked over at her and, once again, she blinked upon meeting his unusual silver eyes.

After a long moment of staring and silence, she sighed softly and pushed herself off the wall, grunting with effort. He made the slightest motion toward her, as if to help her, but refrained from doing anything as she shakily tested her balance. As she did this she wondered what to tell Ethan, calming her fluttering heart with a few steadying breaths. _That had been way too close. Maybe I shouldn't say anything at all._

Satisfied with her legs' ability to hold her weight, she hobbled forward as he watched, stooping down to collect her belongings from one of the men. She was not exactly talented in the art of pick-pocketing, but she had enough skill to quickly retrieve her pepper-spray earrings and magazines for her gun (why she had brought those and not the gun she couldn't say) before rising unsteadily to her feet, biting her lip as her left leg protested violently, almost buckling underneath her. When the boy offered a hand, she wasted no time in grabbing it.

Without a word he helped support her weight as the two walked (stumbled, in Lyra's case) out of the alley and into broad daylight. Through the dull pounding of her leg she noticed his crimson hair, falling just below his shoulders, was impeccably smooth and combed, matching the surprising cleanliness of his jet-black jacket. Also, he had the same duffel bag, and its contents were clinking together with the unmistakable sound of… something she couldn't quite name at the moment.

He slung one of her arms around his shoulder as she blinked in the sunlight, and he gave her a quick glance before murmuring something that sounded like "This way" before continuing to walk. She gritted her teeth as she hobbled along, cursing her ankle every time she took a step and wondering why this strange silver-eyed boy was even helping her. Paying back a favor for what happened a few days ago? That would make sense; but all he would have had to do, then, was to knock out of the men and then leave. Instead, he was helping her along, though to where she couldn't say.

She wished the reassuring weight of her gun was bouncing against her thigh.

The boy slowed the pace a bit, and she exhaled loudly through her nose as her full weight landed on her (what she was now certain of) sprained ankle. She didn't collapse completely, but then she saw Ethan running toward her, and she chanced a quick glance to the boy besides her – but his face was shadowed, and his silver eyes were narrowed, and he wasn't looking at her.

With a sigh she whispered, "Thank you" before gently taking her arm from his shoulder. She tested her balance, found herself capable of at least standing, not failing to notice the crimson-haired boy was still standing next to her even as Ethan, a renowned officer, approached.

"Can I have your name?" she asked him, her voice coming out more as a croak. When she heard herself she was surprised; then, all of a sudden, she was swamped with fear and apprehension and anxiety. She swayed slightly and the crimson-haired boy easily reached out and steadied her, looking deep into her wide brown eyes. _What on earth did I get myself into in that alley?_

Ethan was within shouting distance now, and shout he did. Even so, Lyra did not miss the answer coming from the boy, his voice barely audible. "Silver."

"I'm Lyra," she whispered with a tired smile, and then she made a shooing gesture with her hand, her fingers shaking visibly. "You should – probably get out of here before Ethan pummels you to death."

The boy's lips lifted into what she could describe as the smallest smile, and without another word he turned and seemingly vanished down the nearest alley, his steps so quiet she couldn't even hear them, the clinks of his duffel bag the only thing testament to his presence. Ethan then drew up, yelling something down the alley before grabbing her shoulders and asking her repeatedly if she was okay.

No, she wasn't okay, she would've been raped were it not for the crimson-haired boy, she was terrified and scared and "Can you just bring me home?" she whispered, and Ethan quieted immediately, sensing her exhaustion and knowing his questions would receive no response.

She wondered if she would faint as the person besides her helped her walk, though he was obviously aiming for his apartment rather than her own; well, he could probably wrap up her ankle better than she could, anyway.

* * *

She was adamant about going outside afterwards, but Ethan had insisted she stay in her apartment for the day and to give her ankle a rest. So, instead of doing something useful, she got to sulk. All day. With no distractions but TV and books. And with her ankle burning whenever she placed weight on it. Also with her mind continuously chorusing _I hate crutches_ every half-second.

So she sat on the couch, watching TV and reading books, Ethan checking in at lunch to make sure she had eaten. When she hadn't he had busied herself in her kitchen, and though he wasn't the greatest chef ever, the food he made was passable, so she ate all of it. Then she waved him away, though her anger of him ordering her to stay home had ebbed.

She hobbled over to the window of her small apartment and sat down at a chair she had placed there a few weeks ago – she loved looking out at her city. Goldenrod was beautiful, and she didn't let anyone tell her otherwise. Sure, some of the buildings were old and run-down and ugly and maybe close to collapsing, while others were new and hi-tech and marvels of architecture, and some places were rich and some overrun with gangs and violence, but it was _her_ city.

She watched, and she learned how traffic flowed, where people tended to gather, where to not go during certain points of the day. There was always something new to learn about it.

Maybe that was why she loved it so much.

* * *

Another few days and she was freed of crutches and was now using an ankle brace. The doctor had told her not to overwork it, because sprains actually made the ankle weaker and more likely to break, but she didn't care. She could walk, finally, with minimal pain, and she thus she was happy.

Plus, she was half-hoping she would encounter Silver again. For all of his silence, he didn't seem like a bad guy.

Ethan was waiting for her at the door to her apartment building. They were both was off-duty, it being a Saturday (for one reason or another Ethan refused to work on Saturdays – Lyra guessed it had to do with the woman he was courting), and greeted her with a cheerful, "How's it going?"

She gave him a sunny smile and said in a sing-song voice, "_So_ much better. I want to walk everywhere!"

He gave her a grin in return, but he reprimanded gently, "We can't walk too much, mind. We don't want you to kill your ankle again."

She saw the logic in this, of course, but the euphoria of being outside again trumped her reasoning. Still, she conceded to use the bus to go around town instead of walking at her partner's insistence. It was better than enduring his constant nagging.

The first stop was Lyra's favorite 'food area' as she called them, a quaint little café a little ways from the public square. All of the servers knew them by name, so when they entered and found a table a few of them, seeing as the café was nearly empty, came and sat with them to chat. That was one of the reason Lyra loved the place so much, other than the fact the food was delicious – plus they always knew to hold the pickles when preparing her sandwich.

After the brunch Ethan bid her farewell, citing his reason for leaving as "errands to run, sights to see." He also forbade her from walking too much, but telling her not to go to the same sector she'd attacked and been attacked slipped his mind.

Lyra was weaponless except for her pepper-spray earrings, so she knew she shouldn't go. But she had a nagging feeling that Silver would be hanging out around there; and truth be told, she kind of did want to see him again, maybe talk with him a little. He seemed like an interesting individual, and besides which, she had to thank him for getting her to Ethan those days ago. If he'd been anything like other street rats, he would've just repaid the favor by knocking out the men and then leaving; but instead, he had helped her walk, in the middle of day, where anyone could see him.

Yes, she had to thank him. She knew how the street rules worked, and she knew when someone was breaking them.

But still, she was weaponless, and gang activity always increased on the weekends. So she conceded that she wouldn't go the sector, despite knowing she dearly wanted to, and instead busied herself with visiting some places around the city. First, though, she had to get her bag from her apartment, which she hadn't grabbed earlier because Ethan had insisted on paying for the meal.

As she walked back to her apartment, a small smile on her face and her hands in her pockets, people milling besides her and talking and laughing, she heard something, just barely audible over the roar of the crowds around her: the sound of can of spray paint.

She didn't run like last time, but instead ambled along, angling herself toward the sound. It increased in volume as she neared, and she slowed as she neared a corner. Hesitantly, she edged around the corner and peeked into the alley.

She couldn't really see, but she could make out the form of a young man – along with the familiar shock of red hair. He was focused on spray-painting at this point, unaware of her presence. Since she was off-duty, she figured it was okay to get closer and watch, though she was surprised people hadn't tried to stop him; this was one of the richer, cleaner sections of town.

She didn't try to disguise her steps as she neared, and his head snapped up when she winced, her left foot slamming down on a sharp rock ("_Ow_. Dammit."). However, he paused only for a few seconds, as if knowing she wouldn't report him, and then he was back at work, shaking the cans, picking up new ones, continuing to paint. She stood back at a respectful distance and watched quietly.

It was almost done, she could tell immediately; she also recognized the style and fonts he was using. This, then, was the artist writing 'drown in pain' all over the city, wasn't it? The words he was using now looked foreign to her, Arabic maybe, but she was guessing it meant the same thing as the others. _Drown in pain_… maybe he was trying to leave a message, like Ethan had mentioned earlier.

When he finished, a quick dart of his hand with the paint, he packed everything in the same old duffel bag, quickly and efficiently and neatly. When he slung it over his shoulder he finally looked back to her, silver eyes holding a question: _what will you do?_

There was nothing to be said for quite some time, as they stared at each other, her with her hands in her pockets, his wrapped around the strap of his bag. Then, to his surprise, and also to her own, she smiled, held out a hand, and said, "You hungry?"

Even more surprising was when he shrugged, without taking her hand, but then began to follow her when she began walking away. She wasn't sure whether to be more pleased than anxious.

* * *

**Please remember this was written about a year ago, so it may not sound like my usual style of doing prose. Assuming you read my other works, that is. Also, where in hell's name is Ethan/Hibiki in the characters list, because I spent quite some time looking for it, jeez.  
**

**Reviews are appreciated!**


	2. Part 2

**Looking back, I can see how my style has changed a little bit. Nowadays my sappy BS is a lot less sappy. Actually the sappy BS in this is not very sappy at all, it's very SERIOUS and surprisingly DEPRESSING. I honestly haven't written extreme fluffy, cutesy stuff since Burst into Flames (Ruby and Sapph, yo) because I suffer from extreme secondhand embarrassment when I do.**

**(It's crazy. When it gets too romantic, I have to take breaks because I physically can't take it. It's the stupidest thing, I swear.)**

**... Yeah anyway, T for swears galore, don't own Pokemon, et cetera et cetera, onward.**

* * *

They didn't actually go to eat somewhere – instead they just wandered, these two mismatched nineteen-somethings letting their feet carry them wherever they wanted. Talking was done entirely on Lyra's part, but through her keen observations she noticed Silver replied more in actions than words: a hair flick here, the slightest pause in his stride, an arched eyebrow, even a quick quirk of his lip if she was lucky.

They had been walking for maybe forty minutes with no set destination in mind when Lyra finally asked, "Why do you write the same thing on the walls?"

He tensed, stopping completely, and she had to halt as well, turning to face him. They were in the middle of a quiet side street, one Lyra couldn't see from her window but knew was there and never really used, seeing as its placement was more troublesome than anything – but she could see Silver had been here, too, for on the wall read something in yet another language. Danish, perhaps. She wasn't sure.

After a moment of heavy silence he spoke, the first time in forty minutes he had said anything to her. "It's not a story I'm willing to share at this point, Lyra."

His voice was not as deep as she expected and had a sort of melodious tone to it, and when he said her name she got a chill up her spine – though she wisely didn't show it. Instead, she shrugged, said "all right" despite her curiosity, and proceeded to compliment him on his style as they passed his graffiti. His discomfort slowly faded, and they continued to walk, going nowhere but going everywhere.

Lyra insisted on stopping for a late lunch later in the day, and though Silver obviously looked uncomfortable at the notion, he agreed, especially when he saw that Lyra was going to the same café she'd had brunch in. Apparently it was a favorite place of his as well, from what she could tell from his reactions. She had figured out how he portrayed his emotions, and she could always tell what he was thinking from the gleam in his silver eyes.

Upon entering the servers greeted her again but also knew Silver by name, to which she gave him a surprised look but didn't comment, instead letting him choose the table (away from windows but close to the door, with him facing it) and telling him she would pay for it. He again looked uncomfortable but reluctantly nodded once, obviously not used to – friendliness, perhaps, Lyra wasn't sure.

As they ate servers came and went to talk, though the café was a little busier than it was a few hours ago and they couldn't stay long. Silver didn't mind their presence, it seemed, though he was definitely more comfortable when they weren't there and it was just him and Lyra. She talked, he listened, evading her questions by simply not replying, and in the end, he knew more about her than she about him.

When they stood up to leave after paying, his eyes went to the door and narrowed, and almost instinctively Lyra blocked him from view while turning around to see. It was Ethan with his lady-friend on his arm, and he was coming into the café, the blonde simpering at him and laughing.

Both Lyra and Silver exchanged glances; that had been the same woman back in the alley back when she and he had first met. Lyra gestured a server over and whispered something in the older woman's ear, pressing a few dollars in her palm. The woman nodded and gave them a kind smile before going over to the door as the couple entered. With a loud exclamation she led them over to a table, and Lyra and Silver darted out the door, unseen.

They kept a quick pace until the café was out of sight; then Lyra burst out laughing, causing Silver to actually flinch and passerby to look at her oddly. When she showed no signs of stopping after a few seconds, Silver asked cautiously, "Are you okay?"

She looked over to him, angling her eyes upward to match his slight height advantage over her, and nodded, now only giggling. "Ethan is getting _conned_," she explained, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Silver furrowed his brow; everyone knew who Ethan was, since he was one of the toughest officers who worked in Goldenrod, but he also seemed like a kind of idiot. At his look Lyra's grin widened and she said, "He's always warning me not to get tricked and to watch who I'm with and all sorts of other crap, but then _he_ goes and gets conned. What a sucker!"

Lyra started laughing in earnest again and felt a sense of fierce pride when Silver actually looked away, a smile on his face. A _smile_. After three hours of her talking and him saying nothing, along with a few lapses of silence in-between, she had finally succeeded in getting this crimson-haired boy to smile. It looked so much better than the scowl he normally wore, and she knew if she told him that he would never smile ever again.

Once she had calmed down they continued going around aimlessly, his duffel bag still slung over his shoulder, her hands in her pockets, but walking much closer together than before, mostly because the street was busier. Lyra was certain that when people looked they thought they were seeing a young couple on a stroll; and at the moment, she didn't care. It was nice to just sort of chatter away at someone who listened patiently and didn't tell her every half-sentence she was wrong and weak and not really suited to be a policewoman.

She wasn't even sure if Silver knew she was a policewoman, actually, since she hadn't said a word when she had caught him spray-painting. Perhaps she wouldn't tell him. Speaking of…

"Can I ask you about your spray-painting again?"

This time he didn't halt outright, though there was a definite pause in stride on his part. He kept walking after the brief hesitation, almost speeding up his pace, but she was quick to follow.

"Honestly, you don't need to tell me everything. Just… why 'drown in pain'?"

He did not respond for such a long time that Lyra was about to give up and change the subject. The only words he got out, however, were "My father and my mother are – "

"_There he is_!"

The shriek caused both to turn, and Lyra's eyes widened when she saw Ethan and the blond woman. The raven-haired man was intent on his prey, Silver in this case, and Lyra wasted no time in hissing to the redhead, "Get out _now_. Start running and don't look back."

He looked over at her, eyes unreadable, and asked quietly, "Will you be okay?"

She gave him a small smile, having heard the same question over and over from so many. This time, though, she was flattered by his concern, and the sound of his voice always made her feel a little… floaty, she supposed. But in any case she said, "Of course. I'll see you later, I think."

He nodded, gazing into her eyes for a moment longer, searching for something that he apparently found as he then wordlessly took off, sprinting, duffel bag bouncing against his back as he barreled through the people in the street. Ethan stopped running once he reached Lyra and quickly gave her a looking-over before snapping, "Why didn't you stop him?"

She was still smiling as she turned toward him, asking sweetly, "Why are you dating a liar?"

"How rude!" the woman barked – she had caught up. Her face was twisted into a deep scowl when Lyra turned to her, and then she paled slightly when she caught sight of the girl's face. Lyra's smile didn't change as she looked over to Ethan again.

"She was there when I roughed up her two cronies," she informed him. "And that redhead you saw? He was the one I rescued from a beating."

It was obvious Ethan didn't believe her, but at least she had tried. She tuned out his protests and the woman's ear-splitting screeches as she turned away and began to walk home, whistling and overall very cheerful. She hadn't learned much about Silver, but what she had she planned to analyze and then infer about him. And the thing he was going to say about his parents – she had gotten through to him, somehow.

Silver was a very interesting individual indeed.

* * *

"Ugh… hello? Whozzit?"

"Lyra, you do know today you need to work, right?"

"… Ethan?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Please tell me why you are calling me at five in the morning, and then I'll consider answering your questions."

"Really, though, Lyra, you're not going to go meet that redhead somewhere, are you?"

"Ethan, please tell me why you are calling me at five in the morning, and then I'll consider answering your questions."

"Lyra, I swear to God, if you don't show up at work today – "

"Ethan, I swear to God even though I am not religious, if you don't give me one good reason why you're calling at five in the morning, I will personally steal your wallet and take everything inside before returning it _when I get to work today_."

"… So you are coming to work?"

"Ethan, why are you not hanging up and letting me sleep?"

"Lyra, I'm just worried about you. You went and suddenly accused Teresa of beating up some random dude you apparently saved. Do you need to visit the doctor?"

"Ethan. If you don't give me a good reason why you're calling at five in the morning, I _will_ steal your wallet. And your keys. You have five seconds."

"Lyra, I'm worried about you. That's it."

"One."

"I mean, why are you suddenly so interested in the poorer sector?"

"Two."

"You've almost gotten killed twice already!"

"Three."

"I really think you should see the doctor later today."

"Four."

"Maybe you should just stop being a policewoman, Lyra. It doesn't suit you."

She didn't even say the last number, instead hanging up on him.

* * *

She showed up at work early, bleary-eyed, uniform slightly crumpled here and there, equipment at her waist. Ethan sprang up to his feet when he saw her and reached her in a few long strides, grabbing her arm and dragging her to a chair.

"How's you ankle?" he asked once she was seated. "You're not overusing it, right? You were careful about it on Sunday? You didn't do anything like I asked, right? You're being careful?"

"Ethan, shut up," Lyra mumbled, blindly reaching down to adjust her ankle brace, the black fabric visible above her dark tennis shoe. "You woke me up at five in the morning. What else do you want?"

"I want to know you're okay."

"And I want you to fuck off."

He didn't even bat an eye at her language. "Lyra, I'm just worried about you."

"Yes, I gathered." She finished her adjustments and leaned back, rubbing at her temples with two fingers. "Anything else that's new?"

"I just don't think you're yourself anymore. You called Teresa, a perfectly average citizen, someone who was there when you saved that so-called 'good guy' redhead." He hesitated, ignoring her muttered, "It's true", and said softly, "Maybe you're not put out to be a policewoman, Lyra."

She stood up out of her chair so quickly it would have fallen were it not for the wall behind her and hissed, "Fuck you so hard for saying that." She barely registered his surprised expression on his face as she turned to look down at him and continued, her anger rising with each word, "What do you care if I hang out with someone? What do you care about my personal life? What do you care that I shouldn't be a policewoman? You aren't me, and you don't know what I want."

He looked slightly panicked as he raised his hands in surrender and said soothingly, "Lyra, I just wanted to – "

"No, don't say it. I know exactly what you want – to make sure I'm safe," Lyra spat, hands clenched into fists. "Well, I say to hell with you, because I don't need someone micromanaging my life all the time. I don't need you to say that what you think is right for me _is_ right for me, because I can tell you already that it _isn't_."

"You know you don't – "

"Just shut up, Ethan." She suddenly felt very tired, and she felt herself sag as she said quietly, "Just shut up and don't say anything."

The golden-eyed man tried one last time. "Lyra , I was just suggesting – "

By the time anyone else came in and stopped her, Ethan's face was a bruised mess of blood.

* * *

She had been suspended from work for a few days following her punching Ethan multiple times in the face, and she had aimlessly wandered around until she had sat down on a bench in the National Park. She had gotten there hours ago and hadn't moved since, the sun carving its slow path across the sky.

She wondered if she should be surprised when Silver slid into the spot next to her, but she found she was more shocked by the fact his duffel bag was nowhere in sight. Without it he was just a rather good-looking silver-eyed boy, his crimson hair combed and smooth, his clothes clean and free of marks. Were he not the individual she knew he was, she would be nervous due to the looks he was getting from young women passing by.

"Hi, Silver," she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. She had since returned home and changed, and was wearing a baseball cap for good measure – she didn't want anyone to see her face, because doubtless, the whole thing of her beating up Ethan would be picked up by some tabloid or whatever. "How are you?"

He gave her a long, measuring look, hands braced on either side of him. Hers were clasped in her lap, her bill of her cap angled low over her eyes. She wasn't really expecting a response, so she was sort of surprised when he said, "Better than you, I think."

Oh, how true that statement was. She groaned softly and almost seemed to sink into herself. "You got that right."

They sat for a while in silence, Silver's eyes focused in the distance and Lyra staring at her hands, taking slight comfort in the redhead's presence. After a few minutes of this, she said, "It's funny that we're sort of friends, and we've only actually met up like three times."

She felt, rather than saw, Silver shrug. "You're not like the others."

At this she straightened and looked over to him, adjusting her cap so the bill was now pointed behind her. Silver finally saw some of the old Lyra now, face bright and hopeful, and he reacted by giving her the tiniest smile as she asked, "What do you mean?"

He shrugged again, smile fading. When he spoke, he stumbled over the words, something Lyra had never seen him do; the redhead always approached things very deliberately and methodically, and that included speaking. "I'm… different. People know me. They… treat me a certain way."

She frowned but accepted his answer with a nod. Almost immediately afterwards, she asked, "What were you saying yesterday – about your parents, before Teresa interrupted?"

He arched an eyebrow a fraction of an inch. "Teresa?"

"Ethan's quite fond of her," Lyra said, and she winced upon saying the raven-haired man's name. Silver didn't miss the slight motion but didn't remark upon it as she continued, "Anyway, she interrupted yesterday, and what were you going to say?"

There was silence, but this time Lyra didn't interrupt it, because if there was one thing she knew, it was that he was going to tell her because she wanted to know. That was that. So she waited patiently, hands tapping her thigh, as he stared straight ahead – she could tell by his expression he was thinking carefully about his words, and she was in no rush. Perhaps she should get herself suspended more often; she felt more relaxed than she had in days, now that she honestly thought about it.

After a moment, his voice washed over her, quiet and soothing. She closed her eyes and reveled in how much more comforting it sounded compared to Ethan's, even when the redhead wasn't trying to comfort her.

"My father and my mother were well-to-do," he was saying, and she made herself focus on him. "They lived here when they were – alive."

Her hands flew to her mouth; _shit, that was a dick move, you just made him talk about his dead parents_. "Oh my goodness. You don't have to tell me anything. Jeez, that was so stupid of me, I'm sorry, Silver – "

"It's fine," he interjected, his voice flat. "Give it a few days and you won't remember." His tone became bitter and a little venomous as she watched him, wide-eyed, as he continued, "No one does. They just look at me and see the disgraceful son of a mafia boss, and then they turn away and forget."

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him, connecting the dots rapidly.

"Your father was _Giovanni_?" she managed to choke out, aghast. Giovanni, as in boss of the mafia, leader of all gangs, director of all deaths… Giovanni of Goldenrod? Silver was completely still, poised, she knew, to make a run for it. "Why didn't – how come you didn't tell me earlier?"

"No one sticks around if they know," Silver said monotonously, ignoring her query entirely, and Lyra winced; no wonder the young man was as jaded and quiet and cautious as he was. "I figured I should tell you, because all of my so-called friends weren't really friends once they found out."

This took a moment for Lyra to process, but once she did, she felt a brief flash of anger. Why should they judge this (_good-looking – oh god no, did I really just think that?_) boy by who his parents were? That wasn't fair. Especially since she was often judged the same way, as her mother was a simple housekeeper and did traditional tasks. Everyone always underestimated her, she and her mother both actually, and thought she was weak, and she _hated_ it.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, ignoring his visible twitch, and said reassuringly, "I won't do that to you, I promise."

The look he gave her made her do a double take. His eyes were full of pain and his mouth was a thin line. He didn't speak, but he didn't brush her hand off his shoulder, and she took that as a good sign and left it there, torso twisted slightly to face him, feet planted on the ground.

She barely heard him when he spoke, even though she could see his lips move.

"That's what everyone says." _But they never follow through_.

She couldn't get the words out, but when he met her wide brown eyes, she was certain he understood: _I'm so sorry_.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand slid down his arm, brushing the black fabric of spotless his jacket, to intertwine her fingers with his own. Neither looked down at the contact, and instead, they simply sat and watched, eyes focused on the activities of the park spanning before them.

The only thought on Lyra's mind was the warmth of Silver's hand in her own.

* * *

"Lyra, say hello to Teresa."

Lyra gave the blonde her signature sunny smile and then said cheerfully, "Hi, old hag."

Ethan looked shocked, to say the least, but Teresa reacted even more violently, first sputtering out a "How dare you!" and then going off on a rant filled with profanity and whatever else. Lyra just smiled blandly and tuned her voice out – she had gotten good at that because of Ethan.

After the blonde had calmed down, and then consequently had been reduced to a puddle of tears, Ethan sent her on her way – it was fortunate they were right in front of the woman's apartment, Lyra reflected with a small smile. She barely reacted when Ethan grabbed her shoulders, squeezing her flesh in a grip that threatened to break a few bones.

He'd been getting more and more irritable with her ever since the morning she had beaten the shit out of his face, even though she had called twice earlier to apologize (mostly out of the obligating feeling she felt) – but now he looked positively furious. Add the fact that half of his face was hidden by bandages and she could almost say he looked like a monster.

He was screeching something at her now, about manners she thought, completely ignoring the fact they were on a populated street and people were staring. She just kept that bland smile on her face, wondering when she would see Silver again and recalling the feeling of his pale fingers holding her own. Warm. Comforting. She missed it, and wondered if he had felt the same way.

It was highly possible. The redhead was actually very sensitive, she knew now, though he hid it behind an impervious demeanor and stoic mask. He was at least three times more interesting than Ethan in personality, as well.

"_Are you listening to me?!_"

Her ears were ringing and she mused briefly what would happen if she ears stopped working – wait, no, what she meant was if she went deaf. It wasn't entirely improbable, considering how loud he was screaming at her, but she rather liked being able to hear. In an absent sort of manner she twisted and freed herself from his grip, proceeding to cover her ears with her fingers. _Much better_.

He then reached out and jerked her hands away from his ears, roaring something like "Why do you act like such a little girl around her all the time?"

"Ethan," she said calmly, and he abruptly fell silent, glaring daggers at her. She gestured to the people around them, still smiling blankly. "You realize everyone's staring at us, right?"

Ethan cast a quick glance around and, seeing she was correct, let out a string of colorful words that left even Lyra, master of all bad language, floored. Still, she didn't resist when he forcefully grabbed her arm and dragged her in the direction of her apartment. She'd been meaning to do the laundry, now that she thought about it, and it was as good a time as any to return home. But goodness, the way he was pulling her along was killing her leg, and while she told him gently that he would break her ankle at this rate he didn't respond.

It took a few breathless minutes for them to arrive, and even then she refused to open the door to her apartment, the key safely tucked into her ankle brace. Not that Ethan knew – she'd always told him she kept a copy in one of the potted plants. When his search there failed, he began screaming at her again in the middle of the hallway. Some of Lyra's neighbors poked their head out to complain, only to pull back when they saw it was the policewoman's partner yelling at her. His bandaged face gave him an even more demonic look when he was mad.

"All this over a girl," Lyra interrupted suddenly with a bright smile, and the raven-haired man across from her paused mid-word. "You'd think you'd actually do some research on the woman, you know? Maybe look up her Facebook or something?"

"And why," he hissed through gritted teeth, "should I not just trust her word?"

"Because she's a liar," Lyra replied, and she barely dodged the punch thrown at her face, startled. Ethan never lost his temper nor threw fits, and she wondered briefly if she'd gone too far. It was obvious he was working hard to control himself, breathing deeply and levelly, staring at her the whole while, gold eyes hard as stone. After a few moments of silence he huffed, whipped out his phone, and, presumably, went onto Facebook to see for himself.

After a moment he said, "There isn't anything on here that says she's a criminal, Lyra."

Lyra plucked the phone from his fingertips and went to the picture section of the woman's Facebook. She thumbed few a through and then stopped and read the caption out loud: "Finally found someone new who doesn't have a Facebook. Got him hook, line and sinker." She handed it back to Ethan.

It was a photo of his and Teresa's smiling faces. Underneath that, people were complimenting on her skills of getting a new date so quickly.

"She's a maneater," Lyra said with a delicate shrug, and Ethan stared at her, a stunned look on his face. "Better get away while you can."

There was radio silence for some time before, with a scream of pure rage, he shoved the phone into his pocket and stormed off. Lyra waved at him with the bland smile in place.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

"What's it like, living in the streets?"

Silver gave her a tiny shrug, the entirety of his taller frame shifting as he did so. "I can get a job if I need to and, from there, a bed to sleep in." His metallic eyes seemed to glaze over slightly as he muttered, "But when you're young it's a lot harder."

Lyra swung her legs out, propelling herself forward. She and Silver were sitting in swings next to each other in a deserted playground, and it was nearing the time when the sun would set. Soon they would be in darkness and she would have to return to her apartment, for she would be back to work on the next day and had to get a fitful rest. Silver insisted upon it, much to her initial surprise and then pleasure. It was nice to know he cared.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged again, scuffing at the pebbles with his feet. They jumped away at his movement, clattering against their kindred. "No one has time to take care of a street urchin, and most people don't really care about them."

She stopped moving and turned herself slightly to look at him. "So how did you deal with it?"

He looked over at her, and goosebumps rippled up and down her body at his metallic gaze. He had a way of making her feel… special, almost, as if she really mattered. "You get strong," he said simply, his eyes never leaving hers. "And you stay strong."

"But how did you, you know, get strong?" she persisted, not even daring to blink.

She could just see the whites of his teeth, flashing against the light from the streetlamps that were just beginning to flicker on. He was smiling, the one expression that he rarely showed and that made him look so much more like a young man of his age should, and he looked away from her eyes when he spoke. "I stole things. It's easy, really, especially when you're little – just start crying, maybe someone will pay attention, and when they do, you snag something out of their pocket or purse. Took me a few tries to get it right."

She tried to imagine Silver crying. No image came to mind, even when she imaged him as a young boy, thin and gaunt, with tears running down his face. He didn't seem like the type who would cry crocodile tears. Or any tears, for that matter.

"Once you get older," he continued, and she snapped her attention to her again, "You can't always make it work on your own. Some people find a younger kid to take under their wing and have them be the distraction while they steal. I didn't do that, though."

He ceased speaking for a moment, and Lyra released the breath she wasn't aware she'd be holding. The sun was almost down, and the streetlamps were on full-blast; it was quiet in this sector in the city, and it was almost like they were in their own little world. She twitched when he began to talk again.

"My dad had had men on my tail, looking for me – his heir. My mother had refused to let me get into the business, but as you can probably tell, she didn't do a good job of raising me."

"What happened to her?" Lyra interrupted, reaching over to grab one of the chains on Silver's swing. He didn't seem to mind when, as a result, both started to rock side to side.

"She was killed in a gang skirmish. You know. The usual. Guns and all that." His voice was flat again, and Lyra knew he was holding his emotions back with an iron rein. "I was left on my own since age five."

Lyra's eyes widened. _Five?_ That was young, she could barely remember those years. Though… at age three she'd been trying to learn to read with a fuzzy image that was her father. Now that she thought about it, when she hadn't read a word right, he'd gotten angry and flipped out at her mum. The memory made her shudder, and she immediately shoved it out of her mind.

Of course, Silver, the observant bastard, didn't miss a thing, when his chain she'd been holding quivered ever so slightly. His voice was surprisingly gentle as he asked quietly, "Something wrong?"

"No." His look told her he didn't believe her, and Lyra quickly averted her eyes to her shoes, releasing her hold on the chain of his swing. "Well, maybe." A few more seconds of uncomfortably ignoring his gaze, she gave up and met it, running her fingers through her long, brown hair. "Okay, fine. You've told me a lot anyway."

His face was expressionless as always, but his eyes were – reassuring, almost. She took comfort in that, beginning to propel her swing back and forth with her legs as she looked at her feet again.

"My dad was abusive and an alcoholic," she told him, seeing her toes appear and disappear from her vision. "He left my mum and me when I was… six, I think. Mum defaced all of the pictures of him so I don't know what he looks like." She paused, wondering what else was there to say, as she clasped her hands in her lap and stopped moving. "He was apparently a great guy, before he began drinking. Mum was completely enamored with him."

She wondered if Silver would even understand the pain that a parent like her dad brought. Countless nights of staying awake, listening to their arguments escalate to screams and shouts, the sound of her dad's hand hitting her mum's face, knowing the next day he'd take all the money and waste it on booze, seeing her mum's bruised smile every morning and greet her like nothing was wrong. She blinked away the tears, holding onto the crystal inside her that had developed during her father's reign.

That was probably why she had become a police officer. To catch those who tore families apart, like him.

She looked over, and it was Silver's turn to look at his shoes, eyes snapping from her to look down. Had he been… staring? The thought brought a smile to her face and she chuckled, using her hands to hide her smile. "That's my history in a nutshell," she said, still smiling, and he looked over to her again, emotionless as always. Even his eyes were shielded. "Nothing much compared to yours, I guess, but still – "

"That's a lie." Her smile faded, and she cast her eyes upward to the stars above, leaning back in her swing. "I've never heard my parents argue, but listening to what my father called my mother after she was dead was enough for me to want to kill him. I can only imagine what your parents' fights were like, especially right before mother ran away with me."

His voice was tight, constricted, and all at once Lyra wondered why they, two perfect strangers who had met only days ago, were sharing their life stories. When had they gotten so close, anyway? When had they decided to trust each other? Why did they decide to in the first place?

"Silver," she said, and he met her eyes, the metallic orbs full of repressed agony and sadness.

She held out her hand to him, and waited.

It was a long moment of him looking down at her palm, before looking at his own, resting in his lap. But when he reached out and curled his fingers through hers, she thought she understood why they had opened up to each other:

They were both alone and in pain.

They were both underestimated.

And they both had something to prove.

* * *

**See? There is a distinct lack of truly sappy BS. Just a lot of platonic friendsy stuff. GO FRIENDSY STUFF. **

**Thanks for the reviews and favorites and follows and so forth! They do not go unappreciated.**


	3. Part 3

**School's out for the summer at last. Finals have been conquered. Projects have been tamed. Grades have been upheld and raised.**

**... This is why I'm not a poet.**

**I have not, do not, and will never own Pokemon and its characters.**

* * *

"Lyra – "

"Christ, Ethan, why are you calling so fucking _early_ again?"

"Um, Lyra, it's already eight. Where are you?"

"… Oh, _shit_. Why didn't my alarm go off – dammit! Sorry, Ethan, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Stay on the phone, would you, Lyra?"

"You think your voice is definitely the one I want to hear in the morning?"

"Lyra, seriously."

"Fine, I'll humor you just this once."

"Gee, thanks."

"… Ethan, I'm sorry. You know that, right? I didn't mean to, like, flip out like that and maul your face. I was – I'm sorry."

"I know. I am, too."

"For what?"

"For being an overprotective moron, that's what. And for not believing you about Teresa."

"Ethan, I handled that whole Teresa thing really badly. I should've told you straightaway to look her up instead of just calling her a bunch of names all the time. It's me who should be apologizing for that."

"Thanks, Lyra."

"Honestly, I think you deserve more thanks than I do. You've always been there for me and mum. That means more to us than you could ever imagine."

"I guess – oh. About your mom, Lyra."

"Ethan?"

"Well …"

"You're getting me worried with that tone. Is something wrong? Is mum dead? Or sick? Are you going to stop supporting us? Did I get fired?"

"It's not that bad, Lyra, I promise. It's just – your mom is worried about you. She called me last night."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Do I… do I need to go back and see her?"

"She wants to see you."

"Ethan, I don't have any vacation days. If I go, I'll be fired. And why didn't she call me?"

"You didn't get a cell phone until a few weeks ago, and you haven't told anyone the number to your apartment complex."

"I'm not sure if… do I have to stake my job over my mother?"

"Yes."

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Lyra, I would never lie to you."

"Ethan, just humor my paranoia and let me call her. Please?"

"Lyra, I don't think that's – "

"If I mean anything to you, please. I'll get back to you, I promise."

"… Fine. But brace yourself. She's a little… yeah. But go for it, I'll be waiting."

"Okay. Thanks, Ethan. Really. Thank you so much."

"Anytime, Lyra."

* * *

"Mum? Mum, you there?"

"Lyra! Hello, honey. It's been a while since you called me. How's it going?"

"I'm doing great, mum. Ethan told me you wanted to talk to me. Something about me visiting."

"Well, of course I'd like to see my daughter – but if you're happy in Goldenrod, you don't have to come back right away."

"Oh, okay. What did you and Ethan talk about last night, then? Just curious."

"Actually, I didn't speak to Ethan last night, dear – I was out helping at the Professor's lab. Did something happen?"

"… No. He just told me something was wrong with you."

"I'm perfectly fine. You don't suppose he got the wrong number?"

"I don't know. It's a little weird, either way. You're sure he didn't call you?"

"As sure as I can be. The professor had me out in the field for quite some time. It was lovely, really, but he is so scatterbrained."

"Cool, mum. But that means… do you think he was lying to me?"

"I don't think Ethan would even think of doing that. He's a good man."

"I… guess so."

"Is something bothering you, Lyra?"

"… Mum, did you know Ethan was dating a criminal for a long time?"

"No, I didn't – it wouldn't happen to be that dear Teresa woman he spoke of, would it?"

"Yeah. It was her. She was a thief. I think she got arrested a couple of days ago from stealing jewelry from a store or something."

"The poor dear. He must have been crushed."

"I dunno, mum. That's where I'm confused. He doesn't seem sad at all, and he kind of implied that something was wrong with you."

"I can assure you I'm just fine. Maybe I should talk to him. Do you think you can open a conference call?"

"Now? I'm already late for work."

"You might as well be, if your partner is acting so oddly. And you can always come here if you get fired."

"Thanks, mum, but small-town crime is a drop in the bucket compared to the stuff here. It's way more exciting. Anyway, I'll get him on."

* * *

Confident she had connected properly, Lyra spoke into her cellphone. "Ethan?"

His voice greeted her immediately. "Hey, Lyra. Did you talk to your mom?"

"She's on the line, actually – wants to talk to you. You mind?"

He sounded startled as he said, "No, not at all. Hello."

Her mother brushed past the greetings and went straight to the point – something Lyra loved about her. "Ethan, my daughter tells me you told her that something is wrong with me."

Now the man sounded guarded. "That's what you told me last night."

"I wasn't home last night."

"Then – but – oh. _Damn._ Lyra, it's not what you think." Now Ethan sounded genuinely panicked – Lyra recognized the high-pitched squeal under his words immediately (he would also occasionally squeak when surprised). "I can show you the history on my phone – it's your mother's number. I'm positive! I'll even read it off for you."

True to his word, his voice tinny and a little distant as he held his phone away to read it, he rattled the number off. It was the one that Lyra knew immediately belonged to her mother.

"But how is this possible?" her mother exclaimed, and from the sounds coming from her end Lyra could tell she was in the kitchen. "I was at the Professor's lab all last night!"

Lyra chose to interrupt here. "Ethan, can I come over and see your phone?"

"Yes, of course. You're already really late, but I've managed to keep that from the Chief's notice. Hurry up."

_Ethan, you lifesaver. _"Thanks. I'll be there in a jiffy. Bye, mum, I'll talk to you really soon, I promise."

"Bye, dear. Be safe, you two."

"Always, mum."

"You can count on us."

* * *

"Someone's pretending to be your mom, Lyra."

_I know_. She didn't stop pacing, hands behind her back, and Ethan kept sitting and watched her.

"Or someone broke into your house last night."

_I know_.

"Lyra, your mom might be in danger."

_I know_. "I really should go back."

"If you do, you'll lose your job."

"Ethan, you know that I know that more than anyone."

"I guess I do."

"My mother is more important than my job."

"Yes."

"… I'm going to go back."

* * *

"You're_ leaving_?"

She bit her lip and looked down from Silver's face. For the first time he was showing a true expression – he looked stunned.

"It's my mom," she whispered, shuffling her feet, and she heard Silver exhale loudly. "We think she's in danger."

She saw him stiffen, and she looked up again as he asked, his voice carefully guarded, "We?"

"Ethan and I," she explained, looking up at him. He was staring at her, eyes narrowed. "He's my partner."

There was a pregnant pause, in which Lyra could practically feel the tension rise. When he spoke, his voice was hard. "And you never told me?"

"I thought you knew. " It was true, she had. He seemed to figure everything out pretty quickly, and she had just assumed the day he'd helped her out of the alley and Ethan had run over… "Is it important?"

"_Is it important?_" She froze when he grabbed her shoulders and stared into her eyes, his lips pulled back in a doglike snarl. He was so close that some of his crimson hair brushed against her face. "I had no idea you were a police officer!"

_Shit_. "I really thought you knew; I'm sorry, I – "

"Was all this 'friend' thing an act?" he hissed, leaning in closer, noses almost touching. The mask of fury that was his face caused her to squirm with anxiety; she had had no idea he'd get so _angry_. _Smooth, Lyra, just smooth._ "Trying to get close to me so you could arrest me? Silver, the mafia boss's son, graffiti artist, finally in jail?"

She reacted by grabbing his wrists when he tried to pull away. "No! I swear I wasn't – no, Silver, you're my friend!" He jerked his wrists but she held tight. "I haven't told anyone about you. Ethan's only seen you, because you helped me at the alley and the café, but he doesn't know who you are – I swear to any deity you hold sacred, no one knows!"

"How can I trust you?" he snarled, again trying to free himself – but Lyra wasn't going to let go. Not when she was this close to losing a beautiful friend, literally and figuratively, like him.

Instead of faltering like he probably expected, she stared at him square in the eye. "If my friendship means anything to you, if you like me even just the tiniest bit, you'd trust me and take my word for it. _No one_ knows who you are, nor do they know you and I have been talking."

Her grip on his wrists was still iron, but he had stopped moving – so she loosened it, her fingers sliding down until she held his hands gently in her own. "I promise I haven't told anyone," she said again, never blinking, never breaking eye contact. "You're my _friend_, Silver."

"Do you know how often people tell me that?" he hissed without missing a beat, eyes hard, though his fingers tightened; his hands felt so warm in her own. "Do you know often they say that, and then how quickly they turn their backs?"

She could only imagine, but she then said quietly, "I like you too much to stop being your friend." Almost immediately afterwards she looked down, flushing furiously. _Dammit, that sounded like a confession._

But in one way or another, she kind of sort of meant it. She did like him far too much to break off all contact with him. And she sort of did like him more than she would like a friend. At least, from what she could understand from her desire to see him (once in a while, she defended weakly) when he wasn't with her. For the most part, though, she worked to keep her eyes away from his, knowing that she would be reduced to a stuttering pile of _that's-not-what-I-meant-I-swear_ if she met his silver orbs.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

It came out as a whisper, his grip on her hands threatening to crush her fingers. She didn't mind, though, and together they stood in silence, two nineteen-year olds standing in the middle of an empty park, alone but facing the world with the other at their side.

It was symbolic, almost.

* * *

The last day before she went home Ethan was jubilant.

"We finally caught that graffiti artist, the one who's been putting 'drown in pain' all over the city!" he said triumphantly – and Lyra's blood ran cold.

She worked hard to control her emotions, wondering if her inevitable journey home had caused Silver to pick up painting again. He had stopped since meeting her, that much she knew; she felt a tremendous amount of guilt now, even after assuring him she hadn't said anything. He was probably so angry at her.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

Ethan gave her a pointed look. "I've seen you around with him. The Chief doesn't trust you not to do anything if you meet him."

Lyra scowled. She and Silver had been careful not to be seen together in a place where police officers or gang heads would be – she couldn't be seen by her coworkers and he definitely couldn't be seen by gang heads or they would target her. There was that one time at the café where Ethan had maybe seen him, though…

"Please. Let me see him." She rarely took the begging tone with Ethan, and he looked startled as he looked back at her.

After a moment, he said, "Do you really like him that much?"

She suppressed the blush threatening to rise in her cheeks. "He's my good friend, Ethan – and he's not a criminal. He's just trying to release stuff inside of him, you know?"

"I… suppose. Still. You like him?"

She blinked, looking up to meet Ethan's gold eyes. "I don't know. I know I do as a friend, but I don't know if I… like him _that_ way. You know."

"He's been in jail, Lyra." His tone became sing-song, and he sported a wide grin. "It would be bad for your record if you started – I dunno, dating him?"

She gave her partner a playful shove, giggling. "Coming from you, that doesn't mean much." Then she composed herself. "Please. Can I see him?"

"Sure. We're only holding him for a few hours, anyway, and there's only a little bit left – we caught him way early this morning. I doubt the Chief will mind." He reached over and tweaked her nose, and Lyra grinned; it was good to see her partner back in old spirits, despite the fact he was currently wearing an eye patch and his right cheek was covered in bandages. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, anyway."

The station was far from deserted, of course, but no one paid them heed as they tromped toward the basement, where the holding cells were. "He hasn't really moved at all," Ethan told Lyra as they went down the stairs. "Just sort of sat there with his head in his hands. Logan thinks he's crying," Logan being the guard who watched the security cameras, "but I think he's just frustrated."

Lyra wasn't sure how Ethan managed to get the keys to the cell, but he had, and he opened it for her. "Might as well lead him outside," he told her, and she nodded as she entered.

Silver didn't even look up when she got close, and she gently tugged on his arm to make him stand. "Let's go," she whispered quietly, but got no reaction. Still, she looped her arm through his and pulled him out, Ethan closing the door behind her and following her up the stairs and out the door. She couldn't even see Silver's face, as he kept his head down.

"See you later," Lyra said to Ethan as soon as she was out of the building. She began to walk, but then paused and looked over at him again. "Are you sure the Chief won't grant me leave?"

"Lyra, you talked to her for hours and got nowhere. I'll keep trying, but I sort of doubt it." He clapped her shoulder. "You were a great partner. When you come back you'll always be welcome here."

"Thanks, Ethan." Mum had once said he had a heart of gold, and Lyra was inclined to agree. He was just that nice and good and kind.

"Have a good trip."

She wasn't sure if he was watching her as she led Silver away, still tugging his arm. But just to be safe, she waited until they were out of earshot before she looked over to him and said sharply, "Stop moping and lift your head, dumbass."

There wasn't an audible response, but quite suddenly Silver jerked away from her and she caught a flash of silver as he looked at her. He didn't run, though, thankfully; Lyra was in no place to chase him, as she still had to be gentle with her ankle. But his face – she hadn't missed that. Someone had hurt him, it was obvious.

After staring at him for a good minute or two, in which he didn't look up, she said, "Let me see your face."

He instead looked down and away. It was amazing, really, that his clothes were still in perfect shape. His hair was as bright red as always, with only a few streaks of dirt, but she could almost think there was something that had dried within the strands. "Would you show me if no one else was watching?"

She didn't wait for a response and instead made a beeline for her apartment, guiding him along with her hand on his shoulder. He followed obediently, hissing in pain the one time he stumbled and she caught him, but otherwise silent as they entered the building.

She took the elevator rather than the stairs for once – mostly because she got a feeling Silver had hurt his leg or something – and entered her home in a matter of minutes, where she sat him down on the couch and stood across from him, hands on her hips.

"C'mon, Silver," she coaxed, as he simply sat there – _like a limp rag doll_, she thought with amusement. "Just look at me. I need to see what happened to you – "

Her voice died in her throat and she whistled softly when he finally did look up, silver eyes narrowed in a glare. It appeared that he'd gotten a nasty wound on his forehead, and the blood had flowed and dried on his angular features. Like the first time she had met him, his nose had also been bleeding, but this time, he also had a long cut on his cheek.

"Nicely done," she said almost approvingly, and she went into her tiny kitchen to fetch a washcloth. Once she had wetted it she came back and instructed, "Hold still."

"This is embarrassing," he muttered as she quickly and efficiently tidied him up.

"Take it like a man. Or woman," she added, folding the washcloth in half before beginning to start on the other half of his face. "It must be nice to have someone actually clean you up, right? My mum used to do this, because I'd always get hurt."

"I never really had a mother." He winced as the cloth scraped by his hurt cheek, but she paid no heed and kept wiping as vigorously as before. "I mean, I did, but it's not like she really acted like one."

"So you've said, and as I've said, that sounds shitty." He grinned at her choice of words, though it quickly faded and he fell silent. Lyra continued with, "Well, one thing we do have in common is little to no friends."

"You have friends now." He sounded almost accusing.

"Oh, stop being such an optimist, Silver, it doesn't suit you." He gave her a curious look as she went on, "I didn't have friends until I actually came here – and that was only last year. And really, they're acquaintances, not friends. So I know how it feels to be alone, you know?"

He was quiet as she finished up, now standing to grab the first-aid kit. She continued chattering at him. "So what did you do, to get beaten up so badly?"

He was silent for a long moment as she tossed the bloodied washcloth into the sink. He only started speaking when she was going back to him, first-aid kit in hand. "Some gang heads caught up to me again."

She quickly found the tube of disinfectant gooey stuff and smeared some on one finger. She delicately reached up and dabbed it on the cut, and even though she was sure it stung, he didn't utter a sound. "How _do_ you keep avoiding them? I've been wondering about that for a while."

"You ask a lot of questions."

"You don't say much," she countered, dabbing the gooey disinfectant stuff on the other cut. It was sort of dashing, actually, one cut on his forehead and the other on his left cheek. He flinched physically when she took her hand away, unconsciously leaning a little to where it had been as if absorbing her warmth. "Seriously, though – what do you do?"

He shrugged and took the absorbent pad she handed him, holding it in place as she stuck it onto his cheek, roll of tape held between her teeth. "I run. I hide. I don't stay in one place. General stuff."

She considered the long cut on his forehead and decided to leave it alone – it had scabbed over a bit, and it really didn't need covering since it was hidden by his hair, though that posed some cleanliness concerns. "Done," she proclaimed, tucking the tape back into the first-aid kit. "Anything else that may or may not be injured?"

He didn't say anything, and she gave him an amused look. "Please, Silver. I didn't miss that bit when you tripped. It obviously hurt. Which leg?"

"Lyra, you are _not_ looking at my fucking leg." It was first time she had heard him swear, but all she did was raise an eyebrow. She then proceeded to poke his left shin with her finger and, receiving no pain-influenced response, poked the other. She was rewarded with a sharp hiss.

"Thought so," she said with a smirk, and Silver leaned back into the cushions with a soft groan. She hadn't noticed he'd been sitting up completely straight this whole time, clearly showing his discomfort at being in a stranger's home (well, not stranger, Lyra reasoned – a girl's home, then), but it seemed he was more relaxed now.

"Look, you can treat it yourself if you want to," Lyra told him with a snicker, holding out the first-aid kit to him. He eyed the bright red pouch doubtfully, and she rolled her eyes, dropping it in his lap and standing up. "Just do it. You hungry?"

He shook his head, so she shrugged and said, "Suit yourself," before going to her tiny kitchen again. It was lunchtime, and she'd been dying to try out a new recipe in a cookbook for a while now. She'd bought the ingredients yesterday; might as well see if she could make the dish.

He came in a few minutes later, red kit in hand, and simply watched her expertly chop up some vegetables, so quickly her hand was almost a blur. "Just put it on the counter there," she said, jerking her head in the general direction, and his hand ghosted over it before putting the kit down. "You think you're up for some cooking?"

"You're asking me to help you?" His tone stated that he was a disaster in the kitchen, but Lyra merely grinned; she had been the same, until she had moved here and discovered what her mum made back at home was a lot harder to replicate than she had expected. Since then she'd worked hard to improve her skills.

"Sure. It would be nice if you did. Because after today, I'm going to be gone for a while."

"You're leaving tonight?" His voice was quiet now, but he still sidled up next to her and brushed the minced vegetables into the pan on the stove when she directed him.

"Yeah. I'm gonna lose my job, but mum's more important to me than police work." She watched for his reaction out of the corner of her eye as she pulled out a bottle of sauce from the pantry. When there was none, she felt a brief sense of disappointment, but said brightly, "It doesn't really matter, I guess. There's probably a job in New Bark somewhere."

"I used to live there," he said absently, and then blinked and seemed to look embarrassed. Lyra quirked an eyebrow; if she wasn't mistaken, that was a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I mean, before my father went and – you know. Mafia and everything."

"How long?" She measured out the sauce carefully, placing it in the pan before turning to the peppers awaiting cutting.

"Moved here when I was two," he replied, turning on the stove at her soft request. "I was by myself when I turned five."

"Yeah, I remember you telling me that." The peppers were easy to cut, much easier than the other vegetables she'd been dicing earlier. She placed these in the pan as well, adding peppercorns for good measure, before retrieving the green beans from the small refrigerator unit. "Are you vegetarian?"

"I eat whatever."

She mentally smacked herself for asking a dumb question, _obviously he's not vegetarian if he can't always get what he wants to eat_, dumping some of the beans into the pan as well. It was sizzling and actually smelled pretty good. "Well, I hope you like vegetables, because I'm vegetarian and this is a vegan meal."

"I wasn't going to eat." What a liar. She could tell he was hungry.

There was no conversation in the small kitchen after that, simply the sizzling and snapping of the sauce and vegetables as she expertly sautéed them, fully aware of Silver's warmth a little bit behind her. She could feel his eyes watching her every move and suddenly felt self-conscious; she probably looked like a wreck, with her hair messily tied up and her clothes crumpled and everything.

As she piled the vegetables onto one plate she asked him, "You sure you aren't hungry?"

"Yes." She rolled her eyes when he forcibly looked away from the platter. The ingredients may not have been appetizing but the recipe guaranteed to make them taste amazing.

"Again: suit yourself." She fetched a fork from the drawer, closed it, stabbed at a pepper and shoved it into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed and she whispered in awe, "Holy _fuck_, this is _amazing_. I will never doubt this cookbook ever again." She reached for the drawer without looking, fished out a fork and tossed it to him. He caught it effortlessly. "Try it. Seriously, this is delicious."

He complied, hesitantly, only to be suitably shocked when he actually ate some of it, lip quirked in approval. "Why does that taste so good?" he asked her, his eyes wide, fork threatening to tumble from his fingers.

She laughed and speared a green bean, this time savoring the flavor. "Because I'm an awesome cook, that's why. And because this cookbook is a beautiful work of art."

They spent the rest of lunchtime chattering about the most mundane things, avoiding the topic of Lyra's eventual departure.

* * *

She missed him already, and it had only been an hour since she'd gotten on the train.

How could she like someone so much? It had only been a week, maybe. More than a week? She wasn't sure. She could barely get her numbed mind to focus in the first place.

She missed his smile. She missed hearing him talk. She missed hearing him laugh, the little chuckle that was always a rare treat to hear. She missed his silver eyes.

Mostly, though, she simply missed _him_. He had complete faith in her, when she had no idea what she was doing. The way he had said goodbye was so sweet, just so Silver, that she could cry. Just a simple

_I'll see you again soon_

and his face when he had said that – sad and hopeful and understanding and reassuring, all at once. It had taken all of her willpower not to just hug him on the spot, because he was just so _nice_, but only to people who knew him, but she didn't because hugging him would cause him such discomfort it would have made the whole situation awkward.

How did he do it? How did he act so sincere, and nice, and kind, even though he seemed like a total jerk around others?

Lyra kicked off her shoes, her sparse belongings in the bag besides her, and curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees. She buried her face between her legs.

How had he captured her heart so easily?

* * *

"So you're the one Lyra likes."

"…"

"Yeah, you probably already know me. Ethan. The one who caught you spray painting earlier today."

"… What do you want?"

"I just wanted to ask you a few things, that's all. I swear I'm not here to arrest you again."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Because you like Lyra, and I want to make sure she's safe."

"…"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're hiding a blush."

"… What would you know."

"According to your standards, not much. But trust me, I know. I've seen you two."

"What, you one of those people who like to creep on people?"

"Ha, you admitted it. Truth is I've never actually seen you two together – you're both awfully good at hiding things, I must say."

"…"

"So anyway, can I ask you a few things? No, don't get up and walk away – I'm still a police officer, and I could easily haul your ass back to the cell you left a few hours ago."

"Fine."

"Great. When did you first meet Lyra?"

"Stupid question. She should have already told you."

"Yes, she has. I just want to hear it from your perspective. She saved you, right?"

"… Yes."

"And then how did you meet her again?"

"I repaid a favor. That's it. You saw me that time, though."

"You mean – wait, you saved _her_? What happened?"

"If she didn't tell you, then I don't have to explain."

"I _can_ arrest you."

"She means more to me than a threat like that. Do your worst."

"… She's important to you?"

"She's my only friend."

"Makes sense. She likes to take in strays."

"Excuse me?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. She's just always been that way, even back in New Bark. She can only relate to people like her, people who've suffered and, you know, basically had a sucky life."

"Guess I fit that profile."

"Yeah. I tried to be her friend multiple times way back when, but I guess a five year age difference made it a little difficult. She thought I was overbearing anyway – which I still am, apparently."

"Is that were you got the eye patch?"

"Uh, yeah. She packs a punch, literally and figuratively."

"… Why are you here again?"

"Mostly? Just to check up on you. Because she likes you, but she really hasn't thought about it. And I figured you already knew."

"Yeah. She's kind of obvious."

"Always has been. So. It's really none of my business. But do you – "

"You just heard me say she means more to me than your threats."

"… Ah. All right. I'll leave."

"Thank you."

"You know, she was right. You really aren't a criminal. You paint because you need to release."

"Yes, sure. Now can you leave so I can finish this painting or not?"

"I could arrest you here and now for that."

"It's been a few minutes and you haven't yet. You done?"

"Yeah, I guess. Nice talking to you."

"Sure."

"Oh. And Silver, was it?"

"Jesus. Yeah, what?"

"If she comes back, take care of her. If she doesn't, you need to go find her."

"Why?"

"I think you'll know when the time comes. All right. This is really goodbye. See you around, I guess."

"Not gonna happen."

"We'll see."

* * *

**My thoughts on this chapter: Could be better. Could be worse. Pretty 'meh' all around, though. ****Funny to think I wrote this two years ago. It was going to be posted on 12-12-12, originally, but I ran out of time, per usual.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and follows! I appreciate it, really I do. So much so I'm going to be addressing each of you individually:  
**

Musical2day **had only good things to say about this, which would undoubtedly make my past self highly pleased and makes my present self equally happy. Thanks very much!**

SuBlu** was nice enough to leave a little message and I appreciate them taking the time to do that. Sometimes writing a long review is hard and so it's better just to stick with a small 'go you!' and it's great!**

Light1172 **was freaking out about all of this and that pleases me greatly. You go, friend, and not to worry, this will be updated rather quickly and finished pretty quickly as well ;)**

secretly sociopathic** is much too kind - I'm glad the whole premise of this story appeals to you ;) And you also mentioned that you liked my Homestuck oneshot with Dave/Vriska and that makes me happy too! **

**And of course** Whismur Publishing House** is chilling in the corner being all supportive-like. Missed you over the school year, friend. Also I'm going to look for the character now to see if I can find it - thanks for that :)  
**


	4. Part 4

**Have another chapter of this glorious fluffiness. It's been so long since I soulsilvershipped, and let me tell you, it feels great. I miss these two.**

**I have not, do not, and will never own Pokemon or its characters.**

* * *

The train only went as far as Cherrygrove, so Lyra picked herself up and walked out, the breeze hitting her like a slap to the face. Had it really been a year since she'd come back? She really had missed the smell of the sea, something that surprised her; it had been one of the reasons she had left in the first place.

After a brief moment of hesitation she began the trek back home, avoiding the waist-high grass dotting the landscape and taking deep breaths of the fresh air. It had taken her a bit to adjust to the city's dirtier atmosphere, and now she felt a little rejuvenated, even though all she was doing was breathing.

Wow. She had thought she would want to return to Goldenrod as soon as she could, but apparently not. She liked it here. She liked it there, too, of course, but she… she really _liked_ it here. How did that even work? How could she love the same place she had hated only a year before?

New Bark came into view after a half-hour of nonstop walking, saying hello to the young children playing around and greeting the adults, who recognized her ("Lyra! You've grown so much!" Hell, she was sick of it), before going to her house. Her mother was waving to her as she got closer and enveloped her in a hug that smelled of spices and fresh air and the sea.

"I'm so glad to see you again!"

Lyra smiled faintly and squeezed her mother's lithe body. "Me too, mum. Has everything been all right without me?"

"Yes, of course! The Professor – you know, he came in a few years ago – he's been letting me help collect samples and such. We can go visit later."

"Sounds great, mum." Then she grinned and said jokingly, "You haven't rented out my room or anything, have you?"

Her mother returned the smile and tucked her brown hair behind one ear, stepping back to let her daughter in. "Of course not, dear. You can put your things in there right now."

So Lyra climbed the stairs, two at a time, the same ones she remembered from the beginning of her life, and entered her room. It was plain and simple as always, and she loved it, collapsing onto her already-set bed with a wide grin. She couldn't even remember why she had left.

Briefly she recalled being a police officer in Goldenrod – she had worked hard, gotten pretty high on the employment scale, met Ethan who had known her from New Bark, stopped some pretty major crimes – and her throat constricted when she thought of Silver. She really wanted to see him.

With a growl of frustration she stood up and stretched. What was she, some hopeless sap? Time to distract herself, time to get to the bottom of _who on Earth is pretending to be her mum_, focus…

* * *

Days passed, then a week, and still – nothing. Her mother was as bright and bubbly as always, the townsfolk distant(ish) per usual, the Professor still being an numbskull – which was apparently what he normally acted, according to her mother, though he was actually a very smart man. Lyra was seriously beginning to wonder why she had even come back.

And Silver. She missed Silver. She wanted to call him, but he didn't have a phone. She wanted to see him, but she couldn't leave her mother.

She also couldn't believe she was sulking about it like a sick puppy. She had read stories of the lovesick heroine pining for her prince in shining armor, and had told herself she would never be like that – but here she was, wishing she could see Silver of all people. Irritable, annoying, mean, arrogant, self-centered, Silver. But also beautiful, kind, nice, sweet, adorable Silver. He was like two sides of the same coin.

She really, _really_ wanted to see him, and she didn't even know why. And since she didn't know why, she brought it up with her mother.

"Mum," she said, sitting down at the table in the kitchen.

"Yes, dear?"

"What was it like, to be in love with dad?"

Her mother stiffened, paused slightly in her tidying. Then she turned to look at Lyra, who was watching her thumbs as she twiddled them. She then sat across from her daughter, a small smile on her face, and took on of the girl's hands.

"Why do you ask?"

Lyra sighed, a soft, drawn-out sound; then she looked up, a pained look in her brown eyes. She could never lie to her mother, and this was the first time she really wanted to.

"I really like someone, mum. I really want to see him."

"You could Skype with him," her mother offered gently, but Lyra shook her head.

"He doesn't own a phone, or a computer." She tightened her grip on her mother's hand and repeated, "Mum, what was it like, being in love with dad?"

There was a pause. Then: "Well," she said, settling back into her chair, and Lyra reluctantly released her hand. "I felt like I was the luckiest woman alive."

Lyra certainly didn't feel lucky when she was with Silver; perhaps she wasn't as enamored as she had previously thought. She didn't know whether to be pleased or anguished. "What about the stuff you read in books – like floating in the clouds, or your heart rate speeding up?"

"Oh, there was that, too," her mother agreed. "I was always embarrassed around him. I never understood why he liked me – a clunky, plain woman like me."

Lyra stared. Her mother was beautiful, and lithe, and elegant. It was surprising to see someone with as much as grace as herself refer to herself in such terms. "And?"

Her mother gave her a soft smile. "It's different for everyone, Lyra. You'll just have to see for yourself." Lyra sighed, leaned back, and her mother consequently leaned forward. "But you'll know when it happens, dear."

The brunette didn't look up, and there was a sense of defeat in her voice when she said quietly, "I don't know anything anymore, mum."

"You'll know. Trust me."

Again, the girl sighed. But she nodded, and whispered, "If you say so, mum."

* * *

The only reason Silver agreed to meet Ethan was because the policeman had said it was about Lyra. The redhead was not even sure how Ethan had found him, but it didn't really matter; if it was about Lyra, perhaps his best and quite honestly only friend, he would be willing to swim across the ocean – not that he'd survive it, of course, but it was the intent that mattered.

"Thanks for coming," Ethan greeted Silver as the redhead seated himself across from him. The street across from the small café that Silver had always liked was bustling with early morning traffic, and he watched this out of the corner of his eye as he nodded to Ethan's remark.

Naturally, in true Ethan fashion, he got to the point and then started beating around the bush. "So, yes, this is about Lyra." He paused, but Silver didn't look over at him, so he took that as a sign to continue. "She hasn't been picking up my calls recently, and whenever I try her mother she says that – and I quote – 'she's sorting things out'."

Silver gave him an expressionless look. "And your point is?"

"My point is," Ethan said with exaggerated patience, "I don't think she'll be coming back anytime soon."

Silver's eyes narrowed, and he repeated coldly, "Your point?"

The man across from him sighed and waved a hand, as if to say _you hopeless idiot_. "My _point_ is that you'll probably not see her again. In a very long time, at least."

Silver didn't even have to say it again, as Ethan threw his hands up and said dramatically, "What does it take to get through your thick skull? If you like her – love her, even, I don't know what's gone on between you two – you need to go _to_ her."

"Why." It wasn't phrased as a question, but it obviously was, and Ethan smirked, fully aware he had captured the boy's attention.

"Because she misses you. That much her mother told me."

"So?"

"So…" Ethan dragged out the single syllable for far longer than necessary, before saying, "Look, I'll say this again – I don't know what happened between you two. I don't even know if I _want_ to know. But I do know that if Lyra kills herself over you, I swear to God, I will strangle you with my bare hands."

"She's trying to kill herself?" He actually sounded thoroughly alarmed, and though the redhead knew Ethan found his reaction funny, he didn't care.

"Well, no, of course not, I kid you. She's too strong for that." Ethan settled back into his chair with a sigh. "But there is something wrong. Lyra called me once before and told me that if she didn't call once in three days I needed to sent help. Because something had gone wrong."

Silver could see where this was going. "So because you can't go yourself, you're sending me."

"As long as you don't mind. Otherwise I can ask Renee to do it – "

"I'll do it." _I get to see her again_.

"I thought you might." Ethan sat up straight again and fished a parcel out of his pocket. He handed this to Silver. "Money for the train trip. It goes as far to Cherrygrove City, and from there, it's a half-hour's walk to New Bark, so long as you don't stop. There should be a hotel somewhere there… if not, you can probably sleep on someone's couch."

Silver's frown deepened just the slightest bit, and he asked quietly, "Why are you helping me with this? You barely know me."

"Because you care for Lyra. And you can get to her in a way I can't." The way he said this, without hesitation, told Silver the man really believed it. "Keep in mind you'll be arriving late at night – I couldn't secure you a good early ticket. Too bloody expensive."

"Okay."

Ethan looked at Silver again, and for the first time, seeing the look in those gold eyes, Silver realized the man was not quite the idiot he had first thought the officer. "You've really been alone all these years, haven't you."

He shrugged. "Pretty much."

"And yet you don't realize it when the prize is dangling in front of you. Young idiot," Ethan said with a laugh.

"Excuse me, but you barely look twenty-five." Oops, that had slipped out by accident. Seeing Ethan guffaw across from him, though, was funny enough for him not to regret it entirely. "So what right do you have to call me a 'young idiot'?"

"I don't. You're way more mature than I am."

"Thanks… I think."

"Y'welcome." Ethan looked off into the street for a moment, falling silent, while Silver simply stared at the table. After a moment the officer said, "You know, it's a lot better since you're going in my place."

It took a moment for Silver to process this, even as his mouth moved on its own and he asked, "Why?"

"Because she likes you better. And though I can't think why, but for some reason she'd rather see you than my beautiful, handsome face." He laughed at Silver's wry look. "Naw, just messing with you."

"I thought so." Silver smirked when Ethan rolled his eyes. He stood up to leave, turning his back on the man for what may be the last time, and began to walk away.

Even so, he was still surprised when Ethan called out, "See you soon, kid. We'll be butting heads later, I'm sure of it."

_Don't count on it_, Silver said, tucking the parcel into his jacket pocket. To think he'd finally be free of this wretched city was enough to make him smile.

* * *

_I can't believe this is happening to me._

Why is it they always find my pepper-spray earrings?

_I can't believe this. Why is it happening?_

_I haven't done anything wrong._

_They don't even know me._

_They don't even care about me!_

I still can't believe they thought of the earrings.

_Why do they hate me?_

_Why won't they be friends with me?_

Why did they have to take my earrings?

_I'm a nice person._

_I don't hurt anybody._

_I don't call anyone names._

_So why don't they like me?_

How do they always find the earrings…?

* * *

Lyra woke up in a cold sweat. She never screamed when she awoke, which was a good thing, now that she thought about it.

Actually, she used to, until she realized it reminded her of her mother when she yelled at her father. Then she had simply decided to stop – and so she did.

She couldn't even remember the dream very well. Bullies. Right. They were beating her up because of… of… fuck, what was it. Because she had answered a question right in class, and had gotten the – oh, yeah, she had answered it right and gotten the candy prize.

They had stolen it from her in the end. She remembered that day well enough.

But why was she thinking of earrings? She hadn't had her ears pierced when she was that little – seven, she thought, she wasn't sure.

And why did she always have the weird dreams?

She swung her legs out of bed, yawning, and shivered as her bare feet slid across the cold, wooden floor. Winter was coming, which apparently affected the area here and made it snow. She hadn't seen snow in – well, not ages, of course, but at least in a year. More than a year.

She shuffled down the stairs, planning on reading a book until her mum woke up, but stopped when she passed the window on the way to the living room. There was someone walking, that much she could tell, and they were going about it furtively, as if to avoid detection.

She considered confronting them: that's what a policewoman would do. _But I don't work for the police anymore_, she realized, and a sense of disappointment washed through her. She kind of missed it, actually – joking around with the other officers, pestering Ethan, eating as many doughnuts as she had wanted, but most of all, working in the field, protecting people, preventing crime, that sort of thing.

Meeting Silver had been the game changer, she supposed – _enough,_ she told herself, _he wouldn't be coming to see me, stop getting all sappy over it_. She didn't give the figure a backward glance as she made her way quietly to the couch, flipping on a lamp and taking up her new novel she was working on.

Only a few pages in a faint tapping could be heard, and she sighed irritably, slamming the book shut with far more force than necessary before placing it gently back on the cushions. _I bet it's one of those boys again_, she thought with an audible grumble. _Funny how they suddenly decide I'm not so bad after all_. She had received exactly ten love notes and had burned exactly ten of them. Still, curiosity got the better of her, and she craned her head to see who was tapping their finger on the window.

She nearly had a heart attack when she saw who it was, her jaw dropping and her breath catching her throat. She thought she might choke as she stood up, her mind going a million miles an hour. How did – when did –

She darted to the door and unlocked it with shaking fingers, pausing before she opened it, taking deep breaths, calming herself down. _You'll do fine_, she told herself, though why she said those words instead of _what am I supposed to do_ she couldn't quite say. _No hesitation_, she told herself. And yet she hesitated, slightly, even as the tapping ceased and footsteps neared the door and stopped. Her hand was fast on the knob but it seemed like an enormous amount of effort to actually spin and open it.

She couldn't do it. Arceus. She couldn't do it. She let the knob go, watching her fingers shake, and stared at her hand, the chipped nails, the calloused fingers. _What if he doesn't like me anymore?_

_Please, Lyra_, she heard the rational part of her brain say. _He's visiting _you_. In the middle of the night. Open the fucking door and say hello._

Well. Fine. She would open the door. So she seized the doorknob, twisted it, and threw it open before she could give it a second thought. And there he stood, immediately meeting her eyes, the silver flashing in the limited light.

"Hi, Silver" she got out before she was _holy crap he's hugging me_. And he was warm, and his jacket was smooth under her fingers, and his hair was soft against her face. She closed her eyes, arms twining around his neck, breathing in his scent – wild and free but still clinging to the acrid smell of the city.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him in a whisper, seeing as his ear was next to her mouth and _holy shit!_ Calm down, she told herself, forced herself to really, straining her own ears for his response.

"I'm not sure." She smiled as she let her chin rest on his shoulder. "Ethan sort of sent me, but he also said something was wrong. Mostly, I was worried about you."

_Ethan had…?_ Oh, right, she had forgotten to call him. What an idiot. "Erm," she said, embarrassed, and she could feel the laugh shake his thin frame rather than hear it. "I, uh, I kind of broke my phone, and I don't know his number."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Sh-shut up." Oh god, she had just stuttered. _What an idiot, smooth move there, Lyra_. In order to get the attention off of herself she pulled back slightly to look at him and murmured, "You kind of came here for nothing."

He didn't even look angry, with that one eyebrow quirked, and though she could barely see since the moonlight shadowed his face she was fairly certain he was smiling.

"I don't think I mind too much."

Her grin widened. That was the best thing he could have said.

* * *

When her mum got up and was going around in the kitchen, she was surprised to see her daughter curled up on the couch with a complete stranger – a redheaded boy the girl's age, it appeared, his gaunt, pale face very peaceful as he slept with his head over Lyra's. That much she could see from her vantage point, anyway; she was fairly certain they were also holding hands.

No doubt that he was, then, the boy Lyra had been freaking out about for the past few days.

_Well, he's certainly good-looking_, she reflected, watching the two snooze for a few moments. _Though the hair is a little odd, to say the least._

But in the end she shrugged and left them alone, making three servings of breakfast rather than two. Who was she to say no to a guest?

* * *

"Sorry to intrude," Silver said for what was probably the umpteenth time.

"It's fine, dear," her mother said with a smile, and only Lyra could see him shift, uncomfortable with the pet name but not quite daring to challenge it. "Any friend of Lyra's is a friend of mine."

As she said this she gave her daughter a knowing look and it was the girl's turn to squirm. "_Mum_," she protested, embarrassed, not failing to see Silver turn his head away, hand rising to his face in order to hide a smile.

"What?" the woman said innocently, and despite everything Lyra could not hold back a smile.

After feeding them and generally humiliating her daughter ("Would you like to see her baby photos?" "Mum, stop it!" "I was just kidding, dear."), she shooed them out of the house. Lyra led the way and Silver followed, eyeing the surroundings.

"It's changed a lot," he said when she asked him why he kept looking around him. "I seem to remember a lot of… nothing, I guess."

She shrugged and said, "Lots of people moved here when they learned how peaceful it was."

As she said this there was a wolf whistle from the opposite street, and Lyra absently flipped them the bird. Silver glanced over and then back to her, eyebrow raised. "I don't know why they try," she said in answer to the unasked question. "No one ever liked me when I was little, so why should I like them now?"

As usual, Silver made the connection in the blink of an eye, and only a heartbeat later he asked, "Bullying?"

She grimaced and gave him a pointed look. "You're too observant, Silver." In return he gave her a small smirk, and she rolled her eyes, jabbing his side with her elbow in retribution. It did little to deter him. "But yeah. My fashion taste left a lot to be desired back then, and it earned some – unwanted attention, I guess."

He had that infuriating smirk on his face, and she smacked his shoulder. "No, don't get any dirty ideas. It was just overalls and knee-socks."

"Who, me?" The statement was so out of character Lyra gawked for a few moments; then she seemed to remember it was not proper to do so and shut her mouth, flushing as she looked away. She could've sworn she heard him chuckle softly.

When she had composed herself she looked over and smiled at him. "You wanna see the new lab?"

"Is it interesting?"

"No, it's boring as hell, but let's go anyway – maybe the Professor will have something for us to do. He pays well," Lyra explained, looping her arm through his and tugging him along in the right direction for a moment. Then, realizing what she was doing, she released him with an embarrassed smile. If anything, he looked remotely disappointed when she let go, and she tucked the expression he wore into her memory.

It was almost like they were in Goldenrod again, simply ambling along with no set destination in mind, ignoring the world around them except for the person next to them. Except now – now, it was different. For one, they did have a destination in mind, but also, they were now hyperaware of each other's presence. _Funny what a crush can do to someone_, she thought, repressing a blush at the last minute.

Upon arrival the Professor was ecstatic to find someone willing to help him ("Thank the heavens you have come!" he proclaimed dramatically, to which Silver and Lyra exchanged glances before simultaneously rolling their eyes) and were tasked to monitor the behavior of the creatures he kept in his lab – in this case, a curious pair of monkeys that enjoyed climbing all over them.

"And why are we here again?" Silver asked after about fifteen minutes, holding out an arm and attempting to shake one monkey from it. It wasn't working, but he kept at it anyway.

"Money. And entertainment," Lyra replied with a grin, somehow managing to write on a clipboard while keeping the monkey on her head balanced. "Mostly on my part. You look like you're in hell or something."

"I don't really liked being touched," Silver said plaintively as the monkey proceeded to swing itself up and poke his face. He grimaced when it poked his previously-wounded cheek as he added, "And I definitely don't like the fact it's trying to hurt me."

"Don't say that," Lyra replied, reaching out to his monkey. Without hesitation it scrambled over to her and hung from her shoulder as she began to write again. "They're sweet little things."

Silver rubbed his cheek and said nothing, though she could tell from his eyes that at the very least he was amused.

After one hour of what Silver called torture the Professor let them go, thanking them for their work and, per what Lyra said, paying them handsomely. Silver stared at the money for a long moment before taking it, something which Lyra didn't miss, before they walked out of the Lab.

"Now what?" she asked him, hands clasped behind her. He was a tall, intimidating presence besides her, and she could see that most of the townsfolk were giving him a wide berth – a blessing in disguise, as she never knew what to say when she saw them.

He shrugged, so Lyra grinned and said, "What time is it?"

"Adventure time?" he suggested wryly, causing her to chuckle as he brushed a sleeve back to check a watch she didn't know he had. "Quarter past ten. Why?"

"You wanna walk to Cherrygrove?" He gave her a look, his silver eyes catching her own effortlessly and ushering her to continue talking. "There's a great place at the beach. No one ever goes there." Then, as an afterthought: "Not to swim, though – just to, you know, talk, I guess?"

It was a few seconds – a few, very _long_ seconds – before he agreed with a nod. She gave him a happy grin and turned on the main street, a dirt path that led out of the town, humming. In doing so she missed the smile on Silver's face, though it faded to a small one as he went to catch up.

As they walked out of the small town and into the green land she asked him, "Why do you think someone is pretending to be my mother?"

His expression, which was currently in what she now called his poker face, morphed to the one he had when he was thinking – that is, the ends of his lips dipped slightly downward in a deeper frown. She was surprised for a moment that she could read his emotions so easily, but then she figured it was natural. Since he never expressed his feelings and his face was for the most part impassive, she would notice the tiny changes.

After a moment he said, "To get at you, I suppose. Though I have no idea why."

She blinked. "Me?" He nodded. "Why me? I don't have anything, and I don't think I've done anything."

"Lyra, you were a police officer." She shot him a look, and he corrected hastily, "You _are _a police officer. In the eyes of those on the shadier side, you're the enemy."

They both made the connection at the same time, halting entirely to face each other as they simultaneously stated, "Teresa." Silver continued the train of thought by saying, "She was released from jail a few days ago, I remember – they couldn't find proof that she had stolen something from the jewelry shop."

"And since I was the one who caught her originally, she probably wanted me to – aw, _shit_," Lyra groaned, knowing that as soon as she got back she'd have to break the news to her mother. She almost turned around right then and there. "Silver, this means _I lost my job_ for no reason."

"Just go back, and apply again," Silver suggested after a moment, and she looked over at him. "You're one of the best officers they got, right? They'd probably like to have you back."

There was a long silence in which neither spoke. It was Lyra who said, "I'm not sure if I want that job anymore," casting her eyes down at her shoes. "Honestly, I don't miss the city all too much. I really like it here in New Bark."

He raised an eyebrow. "Funny, I remember you telling me you loved Goldenrod and couldn't think of a single reason to leave."

"I know I did." Her answer, flat and expressionless, immediately sobered the atmosphere, and Silver's raised eyebrow arched upward even further. "But now I'm not so sure. They don't have many officers here, and I could easily get a job. It's not as demanding, and it's peaceful during the day, too."

Silver shrugged, and said in a most unhelpful manner, "So do what you want."

"But I don't know what I want," Lyra protested. "I want to keep doing what I was doing back in Goldenrod, but I don't – I'm not sure if city police work if what I really want to do compared to small town police stuff. There's just so many things to do there. And here, it's easier, but also…"

"Your mother is here," Silver finished, and she nodded helplessly. He shrugged again. "I can understand that."

"But you'll be going back, right?"

He paused for a very long moment. "I don't know," he muttered at last, feeling the honesty coursing through the words. "I really don't."

She gave him a curious look. "Why not? You grew up there, after all. I can't see why you'd want to leave."

_Can she really not?_ Ethan was right, the girl was not only obvious but oblivious as well. "Just because I grew up there doesn't mean I like it there." He omitted the fact that he'd been quite happy to get away from the city in the first place. "And besides which, the gang heads are looking for me. It's good I left when I did."

"That's all?"

Oh. Maybe not as oblivious as he'd been led to believe. "Well… no, I suppose not."

She grinned at him again, pearly whites shining in the light, and he could see that she knew exactly what was going on, as she said evasively, "If you went back, I would make a point of visiting you."

He gave her a rare smile and said nothing, which was answer enough, and she let out a hum of approval as she offered her hand to him. They were far enough in the peaceful, open woods that he felt comfortable intertwining his fingers with hers.

They didn't talk much as they walked, eventually arriving at Cherrygrove and walking through it to its beach. The sky was clear and the breezes were calm, and since it was the beginning of fall, the temperature was perfectly comfortable. When Lyra settled down on the sand he was quick to follow her lead, sitting close enough that their shoulders were touching, and for a while they stared out into the ocean, waves lapping gently at the shore.

"Hey, Silver," Lyra said, and he looked over at her, admiring the slight curve to her nose. "Do you ever wish you'd followed your father's footsteps?"

… That was not a question a person asks out of the blue. Then again, Silver reflected, Lyra was hardly a normal person, and he took a few moments to ponder his answer before he spoke. Even when he did, though, he could feel uncertainty in the waver of his voice.

"Not usually." He found he couldn't look directly at her. "Sometimes. It might have been a better life in general, but I like who I am now, and – " _if I had I would have never met you_. He wisely kept silent, but he could feel the words in his throat, as he added, "It's… complicated. I want to see what it's like, but I know I wouldn't be any happier than I am now."

She did not say anything right away, instead scooting closer so they were pressed a little more tightly together. Her warmth was comforting, and he shivered as her head found a perch on his shoulder. "I wouldn't be happy if you hadn't turned out like you have," she told him with a smile in her voice.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Silver decided that if he had had to choose between both lives, he had at least made the right decision.

* * *

**A little abrupt at the end, unfortunately, but hey, this writing is kind of old. Blame my past self, not me. Aha. If that makes sense.**

**Hopefully the last chapter will be up soon. Expect egregious amounts of fluffiness, because I'm not feeling so down now that I'm exercising and school's out. This is going to make it hard to update the White/Black story, though. Hm...**


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